Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V2C127

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Chapter 127: The Knights' Acknowledgment

The young man’s words lingered in the air long after they were spoken.

Each person present was struck silent, his words cutting deep into the core of their hearts, forcing them to bow their heads in reflection. Was their conduct truly as noble and just as they had claimed? Even those with unwavering resolve—Liwutz, Macaro, and others like them—felt a fleeting moment of doubt. Indeed, wasn’t that glorious era the very foundation upon which Eruin had been built? Yet almost immediately, they steadied themselves, regaining composure.

“The ideals of the former kings may have been lofty,” the elder scholar sighed softly, “but the circumstances of today are far different. We cannot abandon what must be done simply because of some hypothetical possibility.”

“Idealism cannot alter reality,” Macaro replied coldly.

“And so you meet arrogance and indifference with the same arrogance and indifference as the nobles you despise,” Brandon shot back, his tone equally frigid. “In truth, there is little difference between you. Neither the royal family nor the nobility can bring true change to Eruin—not while you remain mired in this stagnation. Your failure is inevitable.”

“You’ve defeated your rivals, but can you defeat Madara?” Brandon pressed.

“Enough of your prattle,” Macaro growled, his voice grinding out like teeth clenched in frustration. “A fractured rule will never withstand external threats. Besides, this has nothing to do with you. Now honor your promise and hand over the Golden Apple.”

Brandon smirked, lifting the golden fruit before him. “This is the fairy’s apple, said to be the most precious fruit from the fabled Golden Tree. Legend claims it can alter one’s fate—but alas,” he glanced sorrowfully at Cinnabar lying motionless on the ground, “it cannot change the destiny of a nation. Perhaps someone exists who could, but that someone is certainly not you. What you cling to will only become an obstacle for her next step.”

With that, Brandon turned to face everyone and deliberately placed the fairy’s apple back into his satchel. “You shall not have it.”

“Insolent wretch!” Macaro roared, his chest swelling with fury. Though he had anticipated this outcome, Brandon’s blatant disdain ignited a fire within him. In that moment, the aide of the royalist faction, known as the cunning fox, abandoned all pretense of calm. He reverted to his other identity—the former commander of the Gray Wolves Mercenary Company— and drew his longsword.

The moment the blade flashed into view, a sharp metallic clang pierced the air.

Yet Brandon did not flinch. His expression remained unchanged, his gaze steady, even as Macaro’s sword was mere inches from his nose. Between the tip of the blade and the young man’s face, however, shimmered a hexagonal lattice of light—a protective barrier inscribed with ancient runes and glyphs that flickered briefly before vanishing.

Arcane Magic.

And among the oldest kind.

Liwutz, the court mage, paled dramatically, as though he had seen a ghost. “Ancient magic…” the old man rasped, the words barely squeezing past his throat. His eyes darted between Brandon and the fading shield, unsure of what to say. For in this world, only one race still wielded such antiquated Rule Magic.

Dragons.

Brandon silently thanked Aloz in his mind before leisurely observing Macaro’s ashen complexion.

“Who… are you?” the Sly Fox stammered, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously.

“I—” Brandon began, ready with another biting remark, when suddenly Aloz’s telepathic voice echoed in his mind.

“Sir Brandon, something about what you said earlier resonated with… something. This power—it feels strange… I can barely contain it any longer…”

“What? Which part?” Brandon asked, startled.

“The oath… I can't hold on any longer, I have to release the seal…” Aloz urged, her tone growing urgent.

“Wait, hold on a moment!” But before Brandon could prepare himself, a tremor rippled through the depths of his soul. It was no trick of the dragon maiden Aloz, nor the mysterious resonance between Planeswalkers and their cards. Instead, it felt like recognition—a benevolent presence entering his thoughts. A brilliant light pierced the darkness, and within it, a door opened—

He stepped through, if only for the briefest instant, and beheld White Knight Eberton and Earth Knight Jared standing side by side. They smiled at him, nodding in encouragement, their eyes brimming with approval and acknowledgment.

Then, as quickly as it came, the vision vanished. Brandon snapped back to reality, his senses sharp once more. Instinctively, he reached for the Philosopher’s Tablet tucked in his pouch—but he was too late. The artifact vibrated fiercely in his hand, humming with life, and in an instant, the clouds above the Chablis hills parted.

That afternoon, a miracle unfolded across the land. From the Northwind Forest to Lake Vanaral, from Golden Flame Fortress to Chelrot Tower, and even as far as Braggs, every inhabitant bore witness. Above the azure sky, platinum-white clouds swirled outward from a single point in the south, like ripples spreading across a tranquil pond. As the last wisps of cloud dissipated, the heavens revealed a breathtaking shade of violet-blue, pristine and radiant.

Traveling clerics, wandering adventurers, and even the Star Seers of the Council of Stars and Moons gazed upward in awe. Wizards as distant as Buga in the Sea of Death recorded the phenomenon in Delora. Monks from the Lionheart Palace poured out into the courtyards, while recorders of the Black Tower dropped their cherished crystal orbs in shock. Pilgrims at the Gates of Thunder knelt in prayer, moved by the divine spectacle.

All eyes turned to the southern expanse of empty sky, though only a few understood its significance.

Divine artifact reaction—

The forest seemed to brighten instantly, shadows banished as Buga, Macaro, and a visibly shaken Liwutz looked up in unison. Beyond the swirling platinum clouds lay a stunning indigo-blue firmament adorned with intricate, gear-like patterns. Each concentric circle stretched tens of thousands of kilometers, a manifestation of Tiamat—the ancient law that bound elements, worlds, and magic itself, said to have been bestowed by Marsha in myth. It marked the boundaries of the elemental realm.

To behold this colossal and intricate creation was to feel both insignificantly small and profoundly awestruck.

One hand gripping the restless stone tablet, Brandon tilted his head skyward. Beneath the cerulean backdrop, the edges of Tiamat’s design slid gracefully, each arc sweeping hundreds of kilometers. Yet parts of the celestial mechanism were realigning, gears meshing together until one central axis locked onto the region below.

For a heartbeat, the forest fell silent.

Even the wind ceased to stir.

Had this occurred during a game, Brandon would have been paralyzed with dread. The scene mirrored the invocation of forbidden spells—fourteenth-tier magics wielded by elemental lords or legendary wizards. Such spells transcended mortal comprehension, directly invoking supreme laws to unleash devastation rivaled only by nuclear weapons in the old world.

Yet here, too, Brandon felt every hair on his body stand on end.

The resonance within him crescendoed.

At the heart of the circular void in the sky, a ripple formed, spreading outward in all directions. Then, a pillar of white light descended from the heavens. Far away in Delora, Wilhelm Pist, one of the twelve leaders of Buga’s wizards, froze mid-inscription, his enchanted quill staining the parchment beneath it. Oblivious, he stared out the silver-gridded window.

Between sea and sky, a silver column stood erect.

“This… this is… Eck’s Lionheart Sword…”

Another beam pierced the clouds, bending slightly as it crossed the boundary of the elemental plane before plummeting toward another corner of Eruin. The two pillars danced in harmony against the clear afternoon sky.

Speech deserted everyone.

But Brandon? He wanted nothing more than to curl up and die. All he’d done was spout righteous nonsense, yet somehow he’d earned the acknowledgment of Eck the Merciful. If only he hadn’t recited that cursed oath—he’d forgotten the task bestowed upon him by White Knight Eberton, inadvertently triggering its progression.

Quest triggers weren’t unusual, but this? This also activated a divine artifact response.

Wait, wasn’t the Lionheart Sword supposed to be a fantastical weapon? When did it ascend to divinity? Forums listed it as a gold-grade fantastical weapon, consistent with its history. Surely a kingdom like Eruin couldn’t possibly harbor a divine artifact—

The thought flashed through Brandon’s mind just as swiftly as the celestial phenomenon faded. After three to five seconds, the light dimmed. Slowly, the Philosopher’s Tablet calmed under Brandon’s touch, leaving behind a faint mark in his consciousness—an intuitive sense of direction. He knew now that he shared a connection with the Lionheart Sword; such fantastical weapons often forged bonds with their bearers.

Of course, this link came with pros and cons. On the upside, he was closer to obtaining the legendary blade. On the downside…

Brandon glanced at Liwutz and Macaro, their gazes unreadable.

This was going to complicate things.

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